


Forgetting

by sapphire_child



Series: Season 13 Bits [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Coda, Crying, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: As a seraph, Castiel contains within himself the combined knowledge of millennia upon millennia of existence. Despite everything that he has suffered in his time spent on Earth, despite heavens interference and Naomi’s brainwashing and the damage wrought by constant resurrections, Castiel remembers. He remembers. And there are things that he cannot forget, no matter how hard he tries.Or - filling that fanfiction gap where Dean said yes, and also a bit of post-episode hurt/comfort with Sam and Cas.





	Forgetting

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Забывая](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14980832) by [TModestova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TModestova/pseuds/TModestova)



> _Reminding rewinding  
>  Removing regretting  
> Forgetting_
> 
> David Gray - Forgetting

As a seraph, Castiel contains within himself the combined knowledge of millennia upon millennia of existence. Despite everything that he has suffered in his time spent on Earth, despite heavens interference and Naomi’s brainwashing and the damage wrought by constant resurrections, Castiel remembers.

He remembers.

And there are things that he cannot forget, no matter how hard he tries.

For instance, he remembers the very instant that he first cradled the tortured remnants of Dean’s soul. How he lifted the righteous man from hell as he shouted his triumph to the universe. Since then Castiel has embarked on many missions, but none have ever overshadowed his first mission. The only mission, person, man worth losing everything for.

To save Dean Winchester.

_Dean Winchester has been saved!_

He will never forget what followed after. The quiet realisation and recognition of those slow, niggling seeds of doubt. The fear and self-loathing and disgust. And much later – feelings of regret. So much of that. But there was also compassion and empathy, blossoming as he watched Dean and his brother struggle with their destiny. He cannot forget the love that grew for these boys. How he found them broken and hurting and bereft and did all he could to heal them body, mind and soul.

His love for the Winchesters, for Dean, has always been poorly veiled by his duty to God and to the heavenly host. So poorly in fact that it seems no matter how hard he tried to keep it hidden, his love seemed to seep out of him like an infection that would not be purged. Like an oozing pestilence, a creeping cancer that engulfed him when he wasn’t paying close enough attention.

Now, more than ever, he thinks he understands why angels were never meant to experience love, to feel. Castiel does both now, as easy as breathing and as painful as having his wings stripped away. He’s seen Dean die, felt his soul curl into darkness and silence more times than he would care to remember. He’s also saved him in equal measures, has refused to rest until he is home and safe and…well perhaps not entirely happy but _content_.

It’s the same pigheaded stubbornness and brutal loyalty that has seen Castiel sacrifice again and again for the Winchesters. If there is a chance, even a sliver that he might alleviate their suffering, their pain, then he has always taken it.

He never dreamed a day would come that he wouldn’t be able to save them. That all the promises and vows he’d made would come to nought.

Michael, bleeding, considers Dean’s proposal and Castiel takes his final shot.

_Dean, stop._

_Dean, you can’t._

“Dean.” Castiel says it quietly. Desperately. “ _Please_.”

For a moment he thinks it might have worked. Dean’s shoulders stiffen and his hands ball into tight fists at his sides.

“Cas.” He says, not daring to turn and meet his gaze. “Cas I have to-”

“I can take Michael in.” Castiel blurts, stepping forward and wheeling Dean around to face him. He babbles. “I contained Lucifer for months. We know that my vessel can hold an archangel…”

“Cas…”

“Let me do this.” Cas presses. He’s sure that his desperation shows, can feel Michael’s cold gaze on him. He doesn’t care. “Let me…”

“Cas.” Dean shakes his head, refuses to meet his gaze, grits his teeth. “No.”

And just like that Castiel is angry – _furious_. He shoves at Dean’s shoulder. Bellows at him with such ire that the bunker lights may even flicker.

“You know we can’t trust him!”

And that finally gets Dean to meet his gaze, just as furious underneath his own fear.

“I know!” Dean snaps back. “Don’t you think I know that I can’t trust these sons of bitches?” he takes a steadying breath, moves closer and lowers his voice – for all the good it’ll do against an archangel. “Look. You and Sam have both been possessed by Lucifer before. If things go south…”

“Dean…”

“ _If_ things go south.” Dean glares, jabs a finger at Castiel. “There’s nobody I’d trust more to have my back than you and Sam.”

There is a pregnant pause, punctuated only by the sounds of their breathing. Castiel grits his teeth as Dean claps a hand to his shoulder and turns to Michael.

And that is that.

“If we’ve got a shot at killing the devil,” Dean says, quietly. “If we can beat him. Then yes.”

The last thing Castiel sees before Michael vacates his vessel is a twisted, beatific smile. And then there is the beautiful and terrible sight of Dean glowing magnesium bright and brilliant, trembling with the power of Michael’s grace.

Castiel closes his eyes. He can’t bear to watch as Dean relinquishes his will to the muddy claws of pre-ordained destiny. Not as he destroys everything they’d fought so hard against for so many years. Not that it mattered – heaven is dying, Castiel is shunned from his own family, and all of the sacrifices that he made to avert the apocalypse and keep Dean Winchester safe have been for nought. His archangel brethren will fight, and one of them will die, and whoever is left will destroy whatever remains.

_For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this._

From beneath his eyelids, Castiel senses more than sees the glow of Michael’s grace beginning to settle into Dean’s body. For his part, Castiel he can barely stand to look, to witness. Man and archangel turn slowly and when he finally opens his eyes, Cas lets loose a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

As a man, Dean is an objectively attractive person. As a vessel he is breathtaking and terrible to behold, the raw power of Michael’s grace fitting to him like a second skin, an aura of pure white light that would blind mortal men. His wings spread the breadth of the room, stretching, testing, and then they are gone.

Dean…Michael, flex their fingers. Roll their shoulders and then move as if to retrieve the archangel blade from where it lays abandoned. With a thought, it is in their hand and an expression of pleased surprise flickers briefly over their shared face. The face that turns to meet Castiel’s gaze is all Dean, a moment of glee at his newfound telekinetic abilities followed quickly by stoicism to mask the worry lingering behind his eyes and the bravado on his lips.

“I got him.” Dean tries for a reassuring smile, but all it does is fill Castiel with a cloying sense of panic and deep despair.

“Take me.” Cas bursts out. “Take me with you.”

Man and archangel hold his gaze, one surprised one curious. It is Dean however who gives an obvious tell, tightening his grip around the archangel blade and clearing his throat.

“No.” He says, voice rough. “I’ve already had to watch Lucifer kill you twice. No way in hell am I making it a third.”

“Dean…” Castiel tries again, weakly. In answer, Dean spreads his – Michael’s – wings and offers a final placation before he goes. His eyes steely with determination and hope, he looks upon Castiel and offers the smallest of smiles.

“I got this.”

He dips his head in farewell and with a flutter of wingbeats, Dean is gone.

 

 

Castiel isn’t sure when he came to sit on the steps between the library and the war room. All he knows is that sometime between Michael and Dean leaving and the return of everybody else he sat himself down and he has barely moved or spoken since.

He wishes he could be angry. He wishes he could cry and rage and scream as he did once before, when he beat Dean bloody in an alley.

_I rebelled for this? So that you could surrender to them? I gave everything for you! And this is what you give me?!_

Things were simpler then.

Sam doesn’t speak either, when he makes it home and comes to sit with him. He nudges a beer next to Castiel’s hip and sits, a bundle of exhaustion and exhilaration and a deep pain that rolls off him in waves. Cas doesn’t touch the beer, and eventually Sam sips his way through both of them. Only then does Cas speak, quiet and bereft.

“I tried to stop him.” He admits and Sam grimaces, nods in understanding. “But it in the end it didn’t matter what I was willing to give. It only mattered what Dean was willing to take from me.”

 _And that was nothing_ , goes unsaid.

The laugh that punches its way out of Sam is closer to a sob than any form of mirth. Being so close, Castiel can’t help but sense his emotions. They’re a mess, warring between relief for the death of his tormenter and grief for his brother but the tears quickly overtake. Sam rubs his hand compulsively over his mouth, stemming the flow before it can land on his shirt but more tears soon follow. He huffs out a shaky breath, frustrated and upset and hurting.

And then he does something that Castiel wasn’t expecting.

Sam Winchester leans against him, into him. “We’ll get him back.” He says, breath rattling with the intensity of his grief. He grips Castiel’s shoulder so hard its almost painful and then presses his trembling mouth to the backs of his own fingers. “We will.”

Cas places his hand over Sam’s and they lean into each other for as long as they can bear it.

Castiel cannot cry – much as he wishes he could. But perhaps he doesn’t need to. He might be an angel, but he knows what it is to love. To grieve. To sacrifice. He will not allow himself to become the broken shell he put down in the apocalypse world. He will not allow himself to falter now, to lose faith.

His family means too much to him.

Castiel, angel of the lord, remembers everything. And there are some things that he _will_ not allow himself to forget, no matter how much it hurts.


End file.
